Tag Archives: Religion

Complexity and Complicity

Forgive me my ancient remedy,
My overthinking, my overwringing
Each moment into a cacophony
Of strained, offkey singing

When I feel overwrought.

You gifted me to look inside,
And underneath, and from afar
A gift to see conclusions implied,
To guide my wandering star

By unknown charts and graphs.

Your gifts preserved me
I’m thinking on them oft again-
My years now stretch to eight and thirty:
You discipled me in lone places when

I wasted so much trying to join a club.

Disciple me again in this foreign land
I use this overthinking
To try to understand
When my engagement started sinking

Into the deep barrier of me:

To find the ladder back out-
I can feel another cistern
Of grief, and anger, and doubt
And I know I must return

To the spot, to break open the earth

I want to be angry,
Because I know if it’s not true
I enslaved myself to agree,
To believe them over You

And there’s nothing left but to repent-

Which I know I will do,
But I thought they held the keys-
They didn’t permit me pass through-
And now could it be

It only mattered who held the Truth?

It only mattered who the Truth held?


Implausible Deniability

All my life I’ve heard
Who I ought to be,
What I must deserve,
And how I should believe

And believe, I do
From the core of who I am
Whatever facets I eschew
Change not the slightest gram

Of the rock that won’t erode,
And the hand that can’t release-
I know that I know that I know;
I believe what I believe.

Then why don’t I conform?
This I cannot say.
The world, to me, feels worn-
And an infantile display

Of youthful promenading
Feathers flaunting wide
Perpetual self-serenading:
A ballad of blinded pride.

I don’t have the energy,
Nor the desire,
To bow to pop-liturgy
Or lift myself higher-

All my oddities abound,
I see they keep me alone.
I wander the hard ground
Ever out of home-

Even these I speak of plainly
I do not dream as accusation
The lone state that pains me
Is of my own creation

Unwilling, or else unable,
To put aside where I am bent-
I don’t fit into the label-
Does that mean I can’t be sent?

Yet in my diminished condition-
Here am I.
Beyond trend or tradition,
I ever testify.

It all boils down to these:
I am, I exist as I, and I believe.
Whatever else they may say of me
Cannot negate these three.


Total Depravity

How desperately dark
shadows cast
through human hearts
whose goal and task
is parlaying who they are
into all they ask
to get.

How desperately dull
are human desires
once noble, now fallen
to the basest of mires:
self-adoration, deception,
and the ritualistic fire
of competitive conversation.

While the raging beast
of gnashing ego
scratching feet, grinding teeth,
snarling, snorting as it burrows
into souls through caging flesh
feasts on the low
of spirit.


The Defendant Rises

It never got easier
The way obedience usually does,
It gets heavier each year.
I was here in the beginning:
The territory is changeless.
Wasn’t I submissive
When the pastor said my mom
Got beaten because she wasn’t?
If she weren’t a contentious woman
He wouldn’t have to raise his hand.
Didn’t I understand?
When my pastor wouldn’t talk to me
Because my gender forced sexuality
Just like my abusers proclaimed
I didn’t complain.
When I discovered he’d known, for years,
What they did to me in the dark,
But fearing speaking to me
He just let it be.
Then, when I finally took his advice
Found a nice boy; surrendered to yoke
He broke the plan; he broke my heart
He wouldn’t even witness the vow.
I was never really included then;
Nothing’s different now.
I submit to the pastor
My husband picked out
He preached Jezebel was hiding
Inside my soul
I tried cutting her out,
But I never found her
now I’m never whole.
I tried asking him for help
But I’m the most dangerous whelp
The Kingdom of Men knows:
A woman who actually wants to grow,
but they have butchered me all.

When I was still a little child
They dug my grown-up grave.
With open hands raised, they invited me come
A tender thing, trusting, I knelt so young
In the hole they scraped
I became the slave
and all the rest was left unsung.


The Sky Is Also Pink

“The Dwarves are for the Dwarves!”
Sitting in their little boxes
Their righteous little shells,
And from hell, they preach heaven.

“The Dwarves are for the Dwarves!”
No one takes them in, no one
Ever reaches, ever dares try
To pierce their high defenses

“The Dwarves are for the Dwarves!”
They only trust their own stock:
Forged ideas and banished doubts.
They can’t be taken in; they will never be let out.

The Dwarves are for the Dwarves
As they white-knuckle the fear
They believe helps them see,
Which is why the poor Dwarves

Will never be free.


Doubting Me

Ruminating
On the substance of man
The intangibles of hope, and faith,
That fuel and fan
Our brief, burning existence.

Striving and dying
In the same breaths
That framed the common lives,
Ambitions, and inevitable deaths
Of heroes and villains.

And without scales
To weigh this substance,
To ascertain its purpose, or value,
It’s just wandering circumstance
And wishful thinking.

Religion,
Man’s answer to man’s dilemma,
Is more striving at dying,
Temporary solutions or agendas,
Without a Creator.

And I’m thinking of witnesses,
And historical accounts,
The dependency of science,
And it all amounts
To the idea of God.

How easily I doubt,
And how often I look
To the Author of life,
Of time, of the Great Book
That weighs these intangibles,

And makes sense of circumstance.